My Parasite Husband Thought I Was Poor, Until I Fired Him

Inside the luxury postpartum recovery retreat, I had just picked up a rare white pineberry from the fruit platter. Tiffany's eyes instantly welled up with tears, and she let out a loud sob. Beatrice snatched the platter out of my hands. "You’re a grown woman, Chloe! How dare you fight with Tiffany over food! Have you no shame?" I was about to press the call button to ask the nurse for another platter, but my husband, William, stopped me with a dark expression. "That box of strawberries cost fifty dollars! Can't you eat something cheaper?" "You should check out tomorrow and finish your recovery at home!" I frowned. "My stitches haven't even been removed yet. I plan to stay for the full six-week program." William’s face instantly twisted. "A thousand dollars a day for a luxury suite? Do you think you can afford that? Are you trying to bleed me dry?" "Can you grow up for once? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to make eight thousand a month?" "If you insist on staying here, pay for it yourself. Otherwise, pack your bags and get the hell home!" I looked at him and smiled. "William, this ten-thousand-a-week premium suite is charged to my credit card." "The penthouse our entire family lives in was bought by me, in cash." "Even the down payment for Tiffany’s apartment was paid by me." "You’re a parasitic gold digger. Where do you get the nerve to put on this show?" "Say that again. I dare you." William turned back, his face contorted with rage after being insulted. He walked over and jabbed his finger hard against my forehead. "Did giving birth rot your brain?" "Which part of what I said was a lie?" I didn't flinch. "The penthouse, the recovery retreat, the down payment for Tiffany's apartment. Do you need me to read out the bank transfers one by one?" William's finger froze for a second. Then, he sneered. "Fine. You have money. You're amazing." "But let me ask you this—did you marry into the Miller family of your own free will?" "Aren't marital assets joint property after marriage?" "And that penthouse you bought, whose name is on the deed right now?" Looking at William’s twisted grin, I replied calmly: "My name is on the deed. I bought it in full before our marriage. It has nothing to do with you." "Are you sure about that?" He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped it a few times, and shoved the screen in my face. Under the property owner section, two names were written: Chloe Vance and William Miller. The blood in my veins turned ice-cold from my fingers to the top of my head. "When did you add your name?" "Last month," William said, putting his phone back. "The day you went for your prenatal checkup. I used your ID, and you signed the authorization letter yourself." "I never signed any authorization letter." "Oh, yes you did," Beatrice said, putting the fruit platter on the table and crossing her arms. "When you were seven months pregnant, William gave you a stack of papers to sign, and you signed them yourself." I remembered. That day, my feet were terribly swollen, and my head was pounding. William had brought a stack of papers, telling me they were for insurance and baby registration. I was in too much pain to look closely, so I just signed them. "That was a power of attorney for the property deed," William said. "Sweetheart, since both our names are on the deed now, we should manage it together." His tone was as gentle as if he were soothing a child. "Not together. William makes the big decisions in this house from now on," Beatrice chimed in from the side. "Why should a woman worry about so much?" Tiffany pulled at the collar of her coat. I glanced over. That coat was a custom piece from my walk-in closet—a limited edition with only fifteen pieces worldwide. It had arrived last month, and the tag hadn't even been removed yet. "Don't worry, Chloe. My brother won't treat you badly." "Who gave you permission to wear that coat?" "Mom got it for me. She said you have too many clothes to wear anyway, so she wanted me to help you 'use them up'." Help me use them up. A forty-eight-thousand-dollar couture piece. Beatrice spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Your closet is stuffed with hundreds of clothes, many with the tags still on. You can't wear them during your postpartum recovery anyway. What’s wrong with letting Tiffany wear them?" "I’ll return it after I'm done," Tiffany mumbled, adjusting the collar as if it were her own. William didn't look at the clothes. He just stared at me. "Are you done throwing your tantrum? Are you quiet now?" He walked to the bedside table, picked up my phone, and swiped on it. "I’ve linked your credit cards to my Apple Pay. I used your Face ID to unlock it when you were half-dead in pain during labor. I've linked all your main cards. It’s easier for me to manage the accounts." "Give it back." "You shouldn't worry about managing money," he said, slipping my phone into his pocket. Beatrice immediately added, "There's no 'yours' or 'mine' between a husband and wife." William led Beatrice and Tiffany toward the door. At the threshold, he turned around. "Oh, by the way, I reported your Amex Black Card as lost this morning and got a replacement. The new card is with me." The door shut. The room in the recovery center became suffocatingly quiet. On the floor, the white pineberry had split in half, its flesh turning black. I pressed the call button. Nurse Brenda arrived quickly. "Miss Vance, is everything alright?" "Please double-check for me. Can the deposit I paid upon admission still be accessed?" She went out and returned two minutes later. "The hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar deposit is secure. The contract is in your name, and no one else has access to it." "Good. Change my visitor authorization immediately. No one is allowed in this room without my personal approval." "Including your husband?" "Including him." Nurse Brenda looked at me, asked no questions, nodded, and left. I reached under my pillow. Hidden there was a backup phone I had slid in on the day of my admission. I scrolled to a number I hadn't dialed in over seven months. The contact name: Uncle Arthur. "Chloe? I heard you gave birth?" "Uncle Arthur, I need you to look into something for me. Check how the deed modification for my penthouse was approved." "Also, I want the bank statements for all accounts under William Miller's name for the past three months. Every single transaction." There was a two-second silence on the other end. "I'll have it for you within three hours.""I found it." Uncle Arthur's call came even faster than three hours. "Tell me." "The deed modification was processed on the eleventh of last month using a notarized power of attorney. You weren't present on the day of notarization; William went alone. The authorization letter you signed was hidden inside a stack of insurance documents. In legal terms, this is outright fraud." "Can we revoke it?" "Yes, but it will take time. We have to go through the courts to cancel the registration. Two weeks at the earliest." "Too slow. What about the second thing?" "The second thing—" Uncle Arthur paused. He rarely hesitated. "Are you prepared for this?" "Just say it." "William has three bank accounts. His salary account gets about eight thousand a month. But another account has received multiple large transfers over the past three months, totaling 1.92 million. All the money came from your card ending in 7736." "Who did he send it to?" "It went to his secret account first, and then it was transferred to someone named Daisy Carter." Daisy Carter. The name sounded sickeningly sweet. "What's their relationship?" "Three months ago, she rented a two-bedroom apartment across from your residential complex. The rent is twelve thousand a month. A month ago, she bought a Mercedes C-Class, paid in full for forty-three thousand. All the money came from your card." I leaned back against the bed. The white fluorescent light on the ceiling buzzed loudly. "There's one more thing," Uncle Arthur's voice dropped. "She recently registered at the city women's hospital." "Is she pregnant?" "Four months." Four months ago, I was five months pregnant, throwing up until my stomach was empty. William was so busy back then that I barely saw him. He said his company had a huge project. Turns out, the huge project was named Daisy. "Uncle Arthur, let's stop here for now." "Do you want me to—" "No, I'll handle this myself." I hung up and hid the phone back under the pillow. The door was pushed open. Beatrice stood there. I didn't know how she got in; she probably threw a tantrum at the front desk. She was clutching a manila folder, walking so fast the door almost hit the wall. "Chloe, sign this." She pulled a document from the folder and slammed it onto my bedside table. "What is this?" "A bank authorization form. It adds William as a joint owner to all your accounts." "Why?" "A married couple putting their money together is just how things are done." "The money in those accounts is my pre-marital savings. It has nothing to do with joint property." Beatrice’s face instantly darkened. "You always throw the law in our faces! Do you even treat us like family?" She threw the pen onto the document. "Let me tell you, Chloe. You’ve been married to William for three years. My son has been taking care of your food, shelter, and everything else. You just brought some money into this marriage. What’s more important, money or family?" "My husband took care of everything? Your son makes eight thousand a month. This recovery center, that penthouse, the forty-eight-thousand-dollar coat your daughter is wearing—which of these did he provide?" Beatrice’s lips trembled. She couldn’t argue with that, so she shifted her angle. "You're just too calculative. No wonder William is out there—" She suddenly shut her mouth. "Go on, Mom. What is William doing out there?" "Nothing. I just mean he works so hard entertaining clients." Her eyes darted around. She was hiding something. "Are you signing or not?" "No." Beatrice took a deep breath, packed up the documents and the pen, and walked toward the door. Halfway there, she turned around. Her voice was suddenly calm—a kind of calm that was chillier than her screaming. "Chloe, William is your husband. He is the pillar of this family. What he does outside and how he spends money is none of your business as a wife." "If you keep pushing about the money, this family will fall apart. Think about what will happen to your baby then." The door closed. The baby in the crib suddenly started crying, her voice high and thin. I turned to pick her up. The movement pulled at my stitches, making me turn pale with pain. On one side was a 1.92-million-dollar hole. On the other was a four-month-old secret. My phone vibrated again. Uncle Arthur had sent an update. "Found another thing. William isn't listed as the emergency contact on Daisy Carter's apartment lease." "Who is?" "Tiffany Miller. Your sister-in-law.""Chloe, you look terrible. Did you not sleep well?" The next morning, Tiffany walked in carrying a bag of cherries. She was wearing a camel cashmere coat. I recognized that coat. First row, right side of my closet. Thirty-two thousand dollars. She sat on the edge of my bed, her smile almost transparently sweet. "William regretted what happened yesterday. He sat at home smoking all night without saying a word. He asked me to come and apologize for him because he was too embarrassed to face you." "Embarrassed? He linked my cards to his phone and stole nearly two million dollars. You call that embarrassed?" Tiffany’s smile froze for a split second before returning to normal. Her quick recovery proved she knew everything. "Chloe, is there some mistake? William said all that money was spent on household expenses..." "That penthouse has no mortgage. It was paid in full." "Oh... then maybe it was used for something else. I’ll ask him for you." She patted the back of my hand with just the right amount of pressure. "I’m really on your side, Chloe. We’re like sisters." Sisters. Calling me her sister while wearing my thirty-two-thousand-dollar coat. The same "sister" who acted as the emergency contact for a woman named Daisy Carter. She waited for a response, but when I remained silent, she stood up to leave. At the door, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and quickly muted it. But I caught a glimpse of the caller ID—a woman's selfie with a cute bunny-ear filter. "Who’s calling?" "Just a friend." She practically ran out of the room. Once the door closed, I sent a message to Uncle Arthur: "Check Tiffany Miller's social media accounts." Twenty minutes later, he sent back a screenshot. She had opened an eBay shop. Currently, she had seventeen items listed and forty-three recent sales. All of them were high-end women's clothing. One of them was a black evening gown. In the photo, you could see my initials embroidered on the inner lining. There was also my wedding reception dress—the red embroidered gown. I saved the screenshots and closed the app. At two in the afternoon, the door was pushed open. William walked in with Beatrice. Behind them was a man in a gray suit carrying a briefcase. As soon as he entered, he looked for a table to set up his documents. "This is my classmate, Lawyer Carter," William said, pointing at the man in the gray suit. "He drafted a postnuptial agreement for us. Take a look. If there’s no problem, sign it." Lawyer Carter pushed the papers toward me. "Miss Vance, the main content of this agreement is to place all assets under joint management during the marriage—" "Including pre-marital assets?" He finally looked at me, hesitating for a moment. "Yes." "That's illegal." "If both parties sign voluntarily—" "Are you talking about 'voluntary' to a woman who is only six days postpartum from a C-section?" Lawyer Carter fell silent. William stood up. "Chloe, what exactly do you want?" "I’m not signing." "Fine. Then I’m taking the baby." He walked over to the crib and looked down. Beatrice was already leaning down, reaching for the baby with practiced ease. "Put her down." "Chloe, why are you being so unreasonable?" Beatrice picked up the baby. "What’s wrong with her being with her grandmother? You’re in no condition to care for her. Let me—" I pressed the call button. Thirty seconds later, Nurse Brenda pushed the door open. She looked at the baby in Beatrice’s arms, looked at my pale face, walked over, and firmly took the baby back. "Mrs. Miller, our recovery center has strict security policies for newborns. Without the mother's written authorization, no one can take the child out of this room." Beatrice’s face turned bright red. "I am the baby's biological grandmother!" "We only care about the authorization signature," Nurse Brenda said, putting the baby back in the crib and standing in front of it protectively. William stared at me for five long seconds. Then, he waved his hand to Lawyer Carter and picked up the agreement from the table. "Think about it, Chloe. I’ll be back tomorrow." He walked to the door and turned around. "By the way, I’ve checked the limit on your Amex Black Card. I also know about your other accounts. The money you can actually use right now is less than ten thousand dollars." His lips curled into a smirk. "You can calculate for yourself if that’s enough to keep you in this place for six weeks." The door closed. The blood leaking from my incision had soaked through the gauze. Nurse Brenda was very gentle as she changed my dressing, not saying a word of gossip. When she finished, she stood up. "Miss Vance, have you considered calling the police?" "It's not time yet, Brenda." "Well, you should at least know one thing—when you were admitted, you signed an emergency authorization form listing your husband as your primary contact. This means if anything happens to you medically, he has the right to make decisions for you." "Change it. Change it to myself." "Understood." She paused at the door and looked back. "If they cause trouble again, I’ll block them outside for you.""Chloe, come, let me introduce you. This is Lawyer Jennifer, hired by your father-in-law." On the third evening, my father-in-law, Richard Miller, arrived. And he wasn't alone. William, Beatrice, Tiffany, Uncle George, Aunt Martha, and a short-haired woman named Jennifer—seven people in total—had spent fifteen minutes arguing with the front desk in the hallway. The facility finally compromised, letting in three people at a time. The first group: Richard, Beatrice, and William. I had barely met Richard a handful of times. He lived in the suburbs, ran a small business, and was a man of few words, but when he spoke, he demanded absolute authority. He didn't look at me when he entered. Instead, he scanned the room. "How much does this room cost a day?" "A thousand," William answered for me. "Wastrel." Richard finally looked at me. His gaze was identical to William’s—scanning me from head to toe, as if evaluating a discounted item. "Chloe, you're thirty years old. What’s wrong with William managing the money for you? There shouldn't be any divide between husband and wife." "He transferred 1.92 million from my account to a woman named Daisy Carter." The room fell dead silent for a second. Richard shot a glance at William. William remained completely unfazed. "She's lying." "Do you want to see the bank records? A Mercedes C-Class, a rented apartment, and she's four months pregnant." To my surprise, Richard’s expression barely changed. It was as if he already knew—or simply didn't care. "It's normal for a man to have some entertainment outside." "Entertaining her all the way to four months pregnant?" "That's enough!" Beatrice slapped her thigh and stood up. "Are you ever going to drop this? Since you married into our family, what’s yours is ours!" The second group swapped in. Aunt Martha started wiping away fake tears the moment she walked through the door. "Chloe, you and William are husband and wife. You share a bond. What obstacle can't you overcome?" Lawyer Jennifer sat in the corner, remaining quiet until Aunt Martha finished her dramatic performance. Then, she opened her briefcase. "Miss Vance, I’ll get straight to the point. If William files for divorce and applies for sole custody—he has a stable residence and his parents' assistance. Meanwhile, you currently have no record of active income, and your bank account balance is less than ten thousand dollars." "That’s because he stole my money." "The facts on paper are the facts on paper," Jennifer said rapidly, devoid of warmth. "Furthermore, according to reports, your recent mental state has been unstable, with severe postpartum mood swings. If we request a psychiatric evaluation—" "Are you threatening a woman who just gave birth?" "I am merely stating possibilities." Jennifer shut her folder. "William's demands are simple. First, sign the joint asset agreement. Second, recover your health as soon as possible and prepare for a second child." "There will be no second child." "That is between you and your husband." They left one by one. The footsteps in the hallway gradually faded. Then, a light set of footsteps sneaked back. Tiffany slipped through the door like a stray cat. "Chloe." "Get out." "Chloe, look at this." She held her phone in front of my face. It was a Snapchat chat screen. The contact on the other end was named "Daisy." The latest message was sent five minutes ago. Daisy: "Babe, did she sign the asset agreement yet? Once she signs, dump her so we can be together legally." Below was William's reply: "Soon. She won't be able to hold out on her own." And another one below that— Daisy: "Tiffany, did you list those bags for me yet? How much did that Birkin sell for?" Tiffany's hand was shaking slightly as she held the phone. "You see, Chloe. I'm telling you this because Daisy and I had a falling out. We agreed I’d get a thirty percent cut of the items sold, but now she told William not to give me a single dime." "So you're not here to help me. You're here because you didn't get your share of the stolen goods." "Chloe—" "Get out." She scurried away. The room fell quiet again. I leaned against the bed, my stitches throbbing. Then, I pulled out the backup phone. I didn't call Uncle Arthur. I dialed another number. It rang three times before connecting. "President Vance?" "Three things. First, prepare a complete audit report of all assets during my marriage with William Miller. Second, draft the layoff list for the latest round of restructuring at Vance Enterprises." "Third—notify the board. I am returning to the office next Monday."